The Fall of the Elven Rings: Book of Elrond
by trekker2000
Summary: (final) (see fall of the evenstar, book of thranduil, and book of Galadriel for parts 1-3) (I apologize for any character/plot/setting overlooks or inconsistencies on my part) Thranduil has fallen, Galadriel has faded, and now Elrond must sink or swim.
1. Chapter 1

Elrond Part 1

"Ada." Her gentle voice floating up to Elrond's ears.

"Mmm?" Elrond forced his eyes up from the book to gaze upon his daughter. "What are you doing up this late, my darling?" He asked as he closed the leather-bound volume and stood.

"I had a vision." Arwen replied, her voice shivering. "And I am afraid, Ada."

Elrond took her small hands in his own and led her over to the seat she'd made. The window in the study overlooked a small waterfall, and the finest smelling and most beautiful flowering trees. She'd taken a blanket and folded it, with Lindir's help, and set it on the sill. Arwen had surprised him with it. 'Now I can curl up and read and listen to the water with you, whilst you read.'

"Do you wish to speak about it?" Elrond asked, pushing a messy tangle of thick black hair behind one of her tiny, pointed ears.

"You died, Ada." Arwen sniffled. Elrond lifted her chin to look into her eyes. She did have her mother's eyes.

"It was probably just a bad dream, honey. You know your father won't ever leave you. I promised you, remember?"

"Yes, I do remember." Arwen pushed herself to sit next to him on the sill. She looked him deep in the eyes. "But that is one promise you're going to break, Ada."

"I won't ever break that promise, Arwen."

The little girl began to sob, and she dove into his chest. Elrond rubbed her back, trying to calm her down.

"No, Ada! It's prophecy! Thranduil and Galadriel and Brydda will die! But I will die, first! Don't let the orcs kill me, Ada!"

Her voice rose to a shriek, fear making the small child tremble. "I won't let the orcs get you." Elrond whispered to his weeping child. "I will protect you."

The scene began to vanish. There was a firm hand shaking Elrond. "Elrond!" The harsh voice called out. It was Aragorn. His face was hard, his voice chill, his eyes angry.

"Arwen!" Elrond called out as he pulled himself up to a sitting position. He reached up, and with numb hands, could feel the wetness that creased his cheeks. Aragorn's face began to soften.

"I am sorry to wake you, my lord." The king's voice was soft and gentle again. The same voice he used to talk to Arwen with. "It is urgent."

"What matter could dare be so urgent?" Elrond asked as he found his footing, and pulled open the curtains to his room with a swift flourish.

"There is a terrible gift from the southron orc Leader, and near worse news." Aragorn responded as he pulled open the door to the hall way. "It is of a… personal matter."

Elrond sighed. He just wanted Arwen, alive and well and in love with Aragorn and back in Minas Tirith, if nothing. He just wanted his little girl to be safe.

"I should wonder why it is not Lindir that comes to fetch me for such matters." Elrond replied, a bitterness on the edge of his voice. A lot of bitterness had crept into Elrond unbidden and unwelcome, yet all the more there, since Arwen died.

"Lindir is not yet awake. I have not yet been asleep." Aragorn replied simply. "You have lost enough, and Lindir had brought enough fowl news. It should be my turn, to hand feed you the bitterness."

"Forgive me for saying so." Elrond grumbled as he dressed. "But you, most of all, have fed me bitterness. Arwen could be safe, beyond all, yet she stayed for what? Her unborn child and the man she loved who might have been dead. When you came, you took my daughter away.

"You know, I was dreaming about the night she came crying into my study. She had dreamt I had died, and Thranduil and Galadriel and Brydda too. She said she would die too, and begged me not to let the orcs get her." Elrond told Aragorn, as he looked out the window. "I did my best, but you secured her fate. You, most of all have fed me bitterness."

Aragorn didn't respond, all he did was stand strong, and silent. As if what Elrond had said didn't hurt.

"I do not take offence." Aragorn said after a while. "All that you say, and more, is true."

Elrond brushed past Aragorn, out the door. The King of Men followed close.

"So, what of this news?" Elrond asked. "Where is this gift?"

"The gift is in the courtyard." Aragorn responded, his voice rather tight. "The news…."

"Why do you hesitate?"

"I dislike the news, but do not mistake me. I have received word from the new queen of Lothlorien, Alacla."

"New queen? Galadriel and Brydda…" Elrond asked, leaving the question hang.

Aragorn nodded solemnly. "I am…sorry."

Elrond nodded, but his head hung, hiding the unshed tears from Aragorn. "It was hard enough when my father died. Now my mother…" his voice cracked. It'd been doing that a lot, lately. Aragorn placed a hand on Elrond's shoulder.

"Much is sad on this grey morning."

"What could bring me further? The one who birthed me has died."

"In the courtyard, a sorrow should come anew." Aragorn promised, his voice sad.

There was a slab of rock dominating the courtyard that hadn't been there last night. On top of it, there was a body covered in a blanket sewn with the colors of Rivendell. Elrohir was standing on the side that could only have been the head. His hand was over his face, and his shoulders were dancing with his sobs.

Elrond walked up slowly and stood on the left side of his son, only that much closer to the top of the blanket. The woven cover was slightly askew, proof his son had looked at the body under the cover.

Elrond reach out, but his hand wouldn't make the final move, wouldn't span the final distance to lift the cover to reveal who was under it. Elrohir was sobbing in a way he hadn't sobbed since Arwen died, 800 years ago.

Aragorn being here right now was proof of that. The light that hadn't left Arwen yet had flowed into Aragorn, and though his ears weren't points, he would live much too long for any human.

Lord Elrond stood, frozen, unable to move, a fear pushing itself at his heart, demanding to be felt even though he didn't want to feel it.

Eventually, Aragorn came forth and pushed Elrond's hand down. The hands of the man reached forward and took the ends of the blanket and folded it back. The sight underneath the covering was a punch in the stomach. Elrond found himself gasping for a moment.

"Elladen." Elrond sobbed. The father of the dead boy hung his head, and tears ran from his eyes. The father's tears landed next to the son's hand. Elrohir's twin was dead, killed by the orcs. Aragorn tried to rest a hand on his shoulder, but Elrond shook it off. "All my children are dying." He murmured.

Elrohir was shivering in the cool morning air. Thousands of elves pushed and prodded each other, curious, just wanting a peek at who was laying there, just wanted to know why their lord and his son wept so bitterly.

Elrond wouldn't let them near, ever again. "My son!" He screamed. "That is who lies here, dead! The elder twin to Elrohir has been murdered by the orcs!" His voice was ragged and broke many times, but still he screamed at the top of his lungs. His hands were clenched at his side and anger tore through him like a beast with claws.

Through his tears, Elrohir grabbed Elrond by the arm and tugged him through the crowd, slamming the door to the study and barring it.

Elrond was a few feet in the study when his legs gave out. Tears ran down his face like rivers down a mountain. Before Elrond could do anything about it, he was on his knees, then he was completely on the ground. Elrohir balled his fists and wailed, slamming himself into the door. A sharp crack filled the room, but Elrohir didn't move from the door.

Elrohir had hurt pretty bad when Arwen died, but Arwen wasn't his twin. She'd been the little sister. The one to look after, but then she'd grown up, found womanhood, found someone to marry, and could take care of herself. Elladen had always taken care of Elrohir.

He'd been a role model, taught his younger twin to fight and defend himself, how to speak the many different tounges of Middle Earth, taught him about heritage and histories. They'd been so close. After their mother died, Elladen had stayed strong for Elrohir, had always been a rock in the torrent of life.

And now, he was gone. Elrond understood how he felt because he'd felt that same thing before, more intense then he felt it now.

Those same emotions had always raged through him. When his younger brother had gotten sick and died, Elrond had felt lost, but he couldn't return home. He'd had Rivendell. Now, even that was begging to fade.

Elrohir slid until he was on his knees, the door holding him up as he wept fiercely into the wood of the locked barrier. Elrond couldn't be a lord anymore. He just wanted to curl up and be there forever, just to fold into nothingness so he couldn't feel this total sadness anymore.

Maybe his wife and Arwen and Elladen would be in that nothingness. Maybe they could meet up and wait for Elrohir, and then when he came, they could be a real family again.

Just him and his family, for the first time in a long time.


	2. Chapter 2

Elrond Part 2

"Ada, wake up." Elrond groaned and rolled over. A tiny Arwen was standing next to his bed, thumb wedged in her mouth, her warm brown eyes wide with fear. Elrond sat up and picked the small girl up to hold her in his lap.

"What would be the trouble at this hour?" Elrond asked playfully, raising one eyebrow, trying to defuse the tension that was about to spill over in her tiny body.

"I saw something when I was asleep." Arwen replied in her tiny, soft voice. Elrond could never remember her talking in anything but a total whisper all the time. He supposed that was just the tone of voice she preferred.

"Would you care to speak of it?" Arwen bit her lip, then nodded against his chest.

"It was scary. There were orcs swarming everywhere and I had just gotten out of bed, but I wasn't here, I was in the white city…"

"Minas Tirith?" Elrond suggested.

"That's it!" Arwen nodded. "There were orcs killing all the men, and an arrow pierced me and I died."

"That's some hard stuff, Arwen." Elrond whispered.

She nodded. "I know. And it scared me so much, Ada."

Elrond nodded. "It would scare me too. But don't worry, sweetling. I promised I would never let the orcs near you, didn't I?" She nodded solemnly. "Yes. And I keep my promises."

"No. Let me hold my baby just a little longer." Elrond whispered as everything began to fade. Dreams had haunted him since her death, these dreams that would dissolve as soon as little Arwen was comforted again.

Elrond awoke with his cheeks hard with dried tears, the sunlight of sun high streaming through the window seat Arwen had loved so much. The intensity hurt his eyes.

Groaning at the strain, Elrond used the edge of his table in the study to pull himself up. He momentarily wondered how long he'd been asleep. Elrohir was crumpled up against the door, still on his knees, his hands and head place none too delicately on the wooden door. He was sleeping rather soundly for the position he was in.

Elrond walked over to his son and laid a comforting hand on his back, wondering why after one cried, they usually fell asleep. Maybe emotional excitement made you more tired than a bland day. Elrond shrugged slightly as he gently shook Elrohir.

His son sighed and groaned, slowly sitting back and rubbing his neck. "Please tell me it was just a dream." Elrohir's voice was edgy and full of the desire to break down again, a desire to let tears just fall. Elrond shook his head mournfully, a wetness springing back into his own eyes.

"No." Elrond was shocked to hear is own voice willing to spill over. "It was no dream."

Elrohir sighed and hung his head. It was like the sadness was a profound weight that no one, least of all Elrohir, could stand to bare. "I had hopes it was a bad dream, and when I awoke he would be here again. That I could wake up and still have my twin."

"When I wake, I can only hope my little girl is still here. Now, Elladen will haunt my dreams, the poor soul." Elrond replied. "Why should all of my children perish? What had they ever done to this vengeful orc?"

Elrohir shook his head. "Maybe you could ask him yourself." He fidgeted, his hands rustling together in his lap sheepishly.

When was the last time I saw Elrohir openly restless? Elrond wondered, despite himself. The younger of the two boys had always been huge in presence, confident in manor, and truthful of all secrets. Now, he was just weak, sad, and alone.

Elrond grabbed Elrohir's hands and pulled him up, leading him to Arwen's window seat and sitting him down. Pulling up a chair, Elrond asked, "What are you going to do?"

Elrohir gave him a strange look. "What do you mean? I'll just keep going without him, so much as it pains me to do so."

"Good." Elrond paused. He couldn't fathom anything else to say. He was glad Elrohir was going to claw his way through life, even if that should be alone. "I am sorry." It seemed like such a small and meager thing to say, but it was the truth and he couldn't come up with anything better to say.

Elrohir nodded, and whipped his nose on his sleeve. When was the last time he'd done that? Elrond thought. Never. He'd never done that before.


	3. Chapter 3

Elrond Part 3

The morning was cool, a near freezing breeze shoved the few leaves left on the trees aside to make way for their passage. Elrond's and Elrohir's hair was pulled back from their faces by this small gale and the black strands joined together.

"My little sister lies here, next to Elladen." Elrohir broke the silence.

"More like Elladen lies next to Arwen." Elrond sighed.

"How did you get that name?" Elrohir asked suddenly. "Arwen, I mean."

Elrond shrugged. "I never really thought about it." Elrond answered truthfully. "I named her something completely different then I named you two."

"Yea. This is why I was wondering." Elrohir replied, shrugging himself.

"She was my little girl. Some different from her older brothers seemed the right way." Elrond replied. He was silent for a few moments, thinking more about that sentiment. That would be true, Elrond thought. She was different from Elladen and Elrohir, and her name had to show it. It did a good job.

"Elladen was the prince and Arwen was the queen." Elrohir said after a moment. "I was a warrior, pure and true. But, despite everything they were taught, there they lie, in their graves. The mere warrior seems to be the only one left."

"You have forgotten me, my son. The half elven lingers, though all he cares about fades." Elrond murmured as the wind ceased for a moment.

"Do not take life so hard, father. Lindir stays as well." Elrohir joked, a faint smiling breaking the gloom of his face. Elrond couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"I suppose that should be true. Maybe Lindir is the king you left out?" Elrond asked playfully. Elrohir shrugged shyly.

"He could have a hidden spark." He replied, solemn. "He could be a better king then I."

"Oh, my son, that I doubt very much." Elrond replied gently. "Lindir has been loyal and kind yes, but that is all. He is not skilled at fighting or jesting or being fair to all. You, my son, excel."

"I doubt that." Elrohir argued.

"It is no secret I am more of the… bookish… type." Elrond admitted. "But I fight and ride as well, if not better than many other elves. That was Elladen's one fault, though I feel wroth for saying so over his grave. He was books and tales, nothing else. You are blades and bows, and nothing else. You each got a part of me.

"Arwen is a completely different tier, I honestly have no idea how she happened." At the last jest, Elrohir smirked and snorted. Elrond had done a good job choosing words to diffuse the tension. That was one of his skills.

Elrohir nodded. "She was always very….different, to speak it kindly."

Arwen had been a rather strange child. Then again, so had Elrond. Most elves figured it was the gift that made the mind weak. The thing was, Elrond couldn't find any evidence to the contrary.

From the moment she was young, visions had kept Arwen up many a night, crying and afraid. She had spent most days on the inside of Rivendell, reading or playing by herself.

Her voice always stayed quiet, never raising above a whisper, and always deep. A voice that rivaled often with bigger men than herself. Her shape always stayed thin, though she loved food truly. Many days, she ate as a hobbit eats, many meals full of wonderful food, but she never grew the plump body of the hobbit.

Her black hair had grown thick, whilst Elladen's and Elrohir's had grown in the fashion of their father, thin. She'd worn the black blanket over her shoulders, not truly liking it when it was pulled up. Her face was always fair and pale, whilst her brother's faces had always leaned towards tan. Even her eyes were shaped differently.

Her voice, her shape, her hair, her face, none of it had and resemblance to her father, only slightly so in her mother, and definitely not in her brothers.

Elrond thought of all this as Elrohir tilted his head, curios. "Remembering." Elrohir said. It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

Elrond sighed, "No matter how much it hurts, yes. I am always remembering."


	4. Chapter 4

Elrond Part 4

"The orcs are near, my lord Elrond." Lindir reported.

"Mmmm." Elrond hummed, pushing two rather stubborn, thickly bound books onto his pile of "Histories of Elves."

"No orders?" Lindir asked, rather puzzled.

"No."

"But…"

"I'm going to die, Lindir. Why should I fight, if my ending is so certain?" Elrond whispered, shuffling a sheaf of pages of maps in a leathern folder, pushing them on the top of the pile of elven histories.

Elrond hadn't planned to say that, but after the words had come out, he realized they were true. Why fight when the end is so certain? No matter how much it made sense to Elrond, Lindir still seemed intent on receiving orders.

Orders Elrond didn't have to give. "I have no orders for you, Lindir." Elrond said again. "Why not go and tend to yourself? The honey combs are sweet this season, and the grains plentiful, so bread is fresh and steaming this morn." Elrond said rather meekly.

"I wish to get you something first." Lindir replied stubbornly. "I wish to be with you."

Elrond found himself rather startled at this revelation, but decided it was most likely true. Lindir hardly bluffed, and he would never bluff about such a thing. The boy had been Elrond's most trusted assistant for thousands of years, and his squire and book keeper when he had been a boy no taller than the smallest saplings.

Elrond paused, looking up from the row of leathern spines of books he'd been studying to make sure each one was in its place. Lindir's cheeks were bordering on red, his eyes lowered, his hands twisting, shifting from foot to foot nervously.

"Alright. Go down and fill a platter with what you should like to have this morn, and fill a second platter with a few things I might like to eat." Elrond instructed. "I shall clear the table, and when you return with the platters, I shall break my fast with you."

A smile nearly graced Lindir's lips, but he quickly snapped it away, bounced on his feet in a quick bow, even though he knew Elrond hated that, and brushed out the door, the hem of his robes fluttering near his feet.

Elrond sighed. Some elves always retained that special innocents, no matter how long they lived. Lindir was thousands of years old, yet still he reminded Elrond of a child- so quick to cry, so easy to comfort.

Elrond turned about and with a few long strides found himself standing at the table he'd promised to clean off. It was littered with opened folders, scattered papers, stacked books, half empty ink ports, fresh and broken quills, discarded half-finished papers and drawings, and blank sheets of paper spread along the books, stuffed in folders, and littering the floor.

Half-hazardly, he bundled the pages, empty, filled, and anywhere in-between alike, and shoved them in the folders. He pulled out two of the four chairs, stacked the folders on top, and began pulling and pushing books in clusters on the other chair and around the legs of the heavy oaken table.

He pulled up a bin and dumped a dozen, at least, broken quills inside. Carefully, he poured ink into other bottles, and set the empty ones in a separate box, careful not to break them. He stopped the newly filled bottles and lined them up slowly on the edge of the table.

The table was spattered with ink stains- no matter how slow and careful Elrond poured, he could never avoid spills. He ran a dirty horse hide cloth to soak up the spills, and recognized a new one was in order, the ink stains were so extensive. He discarded the blackened rag into the bin with broken quills, hoping he would remember to ask Lindir for a fresh one before the next dire ink spill happened.

As more of an afterthought, Elrond grabbed the scattered quills that were still in one piece, all five, and wedged the bundle between two of the ink bottles, so they wouldn't flutter away. A few new quills couldn't hurt, Elrond reasoned. Birds grow back their feathers, trees spread their seeds, and horses had offspring.

There was a tender knock at the door, and Elrond thought it was Arwen, before he remembered she was dead. The thoughts were like a punch in the stomach, like a brand touched to his skin, like something just managed to crush every single bone in his body. My little girl is dead.

"Yes?" Elrond whispered, his thoughts choking him. His throat constricted and burned as he held back tears.

Aragorn pushed the door open slightly, and a flustered looking Lindir shuffled into the room. Elrond raced forward and grabbed one of the platters, ignoring the look Lindir gave him.

"I never meant for you to strain yourself." Elrond replied, but Lindir just shrugged. Elrond sighed as he set his tray on one side of the table, plopping down in his chair. Lindir followed suit and sat across from him.

The assistant looked down into his bucket. "A new rag is in order." He said softly, spreading some preservatives on the bread, sticking a fat piece of honey comb, and taking a bite.

"I suppose so." Elrond replied, finishing a handful of bright red fruits.

Aragorn stood silently, leaning against a bookcase, twirling his dagger dangerously back and forth across and between his calloused fingers.

Lindir didn't strike up much of a conversation, he just ate rather quickly, glancing from his food to Elrond every few seconds, as if he was afraid the orcs would stampede in and slip his throat right then. As if he was afraid Elrond would slip between his fingers whilst he wasn't looking.

Elrond ate slower, not minding the juices and honey that streamed down his hand and arm and made lakes of color in the sleeves of his under tunic.

When the platters were empty, Lindir stacked them and moved to leave, but hesitated at the door. His clear and pale face was turned toward Elrond, as if his presence could protect the elven lord.

When Elrond noticed, he glared at Lindir, though the assistant did not need, nor deserve, such a look. "I think Lord Aragorn would like to speak to me private. I thank you much for your service and company in this moment, but I am afraid I have no other task for you. Taking the platters back down to the kitchens should be sufficient. I will summon you should I need more."

Lindir looked ready to protest, but Elrond shot him a look that hopefully dissuaded these thoughts. He knew he'd succeeded when Lindir walked out of the room, securing the doors to the study behind him.

"So, Aragorn." Elrond said, pulling and sorting papers, throwing away the ones that were unfinished because of mess ups.

"Word came forth." Aragorn said, holding the handle of his dagger steady before sliding it into its sheath. "Leader is riding forth."

"Are his armies following?"

"No." Aragorn paused, flicking his dagger back out and nervously flipping it, hardly catching the handle before the let it go again. Elrond shoved past him gingerly, shoving a stack of books that had been around the table legs into their proper place on the shelf. "Word is, he wants to kill you himself. If you comply, his armies will leave for home again."

Elrond sat down in his chair and dipped a quill in one of the fountains, then, with long strokes, worked to finish his illustration. Aragorn moved closer, as if to inspect the work, but Elrond shot him down with a look. "This is for Elrohir only." Elrond said, Aragorn sighing and going back to his resting position against one of the cases.

"How long before he is at the border?" Elrond asked after a strangled silence.

"Four days." Aragorn replied, looking at Elrond over the steady point of his resting dagger. Elrond nodded and refreshed the ink on the tip of the feather.

Just a few more strokes… "In three days, make sure the courtyard will be clear. He will meet no resistance. Let him enter of his own will, and make sure there are no other elves in his line of sight. He's here for me, and I do not intend to let him kill anyone else as an afterthought." Aragorn nodded, but didn't move from his place.

"Do you intend to sit here and while away the hours? When will you wake up?" Aragorn said, his deep voice somewhat haggard.

"Wake up?" Elrond asked as the re-capped the ink well and set the quill on the pile with the other four. "You wake up. You wish me to fight, but that will only bring further death."

Elrond thought for a moment, carefully folding the parchment in half and reaching for his pile of wax. Kneading it between his fingers to soften it, Elrond looked up and into Aragorn's eyes. "You wish to find a way to die. This way, however, is explosive."

Aragorn looked hurt, as if what Elrond had said was absurd. But Elrond knew he had hit the mark.

"I do not wish to linger." Aragorn replied, his voice hardly rising above the snap of wax being manipulated.

Elrond nearly spit at Aragorn, something he hadn't done since he had been a young boy, spitting at a goblin who had stolen my food. "What do you mean, linger?"

"Stay." Aragorn said, clearly seeing the tension brimming on the edge of Elrond, the elven lord who had kept calm for thousands of years. "Here. Arwen gave me her last life force when she died, and now I cannot leave."

"It will fade eventually, you are not elf." Elrond sneered, twisting the wax in half before mashing it back together. "You have no notion of what it means to linger."

Aragorn tilted his head, as if asking Elrond to continue, though sadness and fear raged in him, threating to spill over. He tore the piece of wax into six pieces, then used one of them to stick on the edge of the paper, sealing it. Elrond resolved to give it to Aragorn to give to Lindir before he rode out to meet Leader.

"At first, I was alone. Even in Lothlorien, I had my parents, I was still alone. My only living sibling got sick, the Eldar left him cold as a corpse, and a corpse he did become." Elrond growled, abandoning the letter on the desk and swiveling to stare out the window Arwen had always loved so much.

"My pain faded, and I became one of three elven lords. I was given the ring and the blade, and I came to Rivendell." Elrond said the name of his home tenderly, it was nearly the only thing he had left. "I met my wife not long after I came to live here.

"Oh, her beauty!" Elrond sighed, blinking the light of the sun from his eyes, remembering her face for a few moments. "We were in true love, Aragorn. We spent nearly every waking hour I wasn't making decisions to rule Rivendell together."

Aragorn nodded silently, flipping his blade one last time before shoving it back in its home. He understood what it was like to love someone so much.

"Our love brought forth our sons, which we hadn't expected. One, yes, but two?" Elrond chuckled softly, the memory bringing some joy. "They grew up quickly, but we still lived as one happy family. We loved each other, and dotted over our sons.

"No one ever expected it to happen, but happen it did. There was an accident, we messed up, and my wife got very sick. A simple graze that hardly broke skin with a blade baffled me, and became terribly infected." Elrond paused. "Arwen… couldn't understand what was happening. She thought I was doing something bad, even though her brothers and I tried everything to tell her what really happened."

"She thought I was a bad man." Elrond said, glaring at Aragorn pointedly. "So I let her say goodbye to her mother, to sit at her bedside as she died. Arwen realized it hurt me just as much when I held her close and I fought tears, but they came anyway.

"She was okay with it, relying on me now." Elrond shrugged and turned back away. "I had to hold it together, even though I felt like a huge part of me was gone. I still had my little girl to hold when she became afraid of the dreams that turned out to be true. I still had my little boys to go riding and hunting and fighting with."

Aragorn inclined his head slightly, telling Elrond he got the point.

"It felt like a slap, and it stung, but my baby girl was still alive." Elrond said, hoping Aragorn would get the implications made. It seemed he did. "You are a good man, and capable. I do not blame you, nor feel regret. But you took something from me. My baby. You took her away, and now she's asleep and can't wake up."

Elrond closed his eyes, and felt a tear squeeze its way out of his eye and down his cheek. "You brought news of my mother's death, Lindir my father's years before. You took me to the body of my son."

"You cannot shoot the messenger." Aragorn replied, his voice steel.

"No." Elrond agreed. "But I can shoot myself.

"Everyone I ever loved seems to falter, to fail and fall asleep and I can't wake them up. But I stay awake. I do not fail nor falter. Everyone I love is dead, and yet I linger.

"Why?"


	5. Chapter 5

Elrond Part 5

The cool morning air saps at the heat rising from his body.

Often, the courtyards are filled with elves all moments of the day and night, guards guarding or switching. Guards done with their shifts eating or bathing or reading before they go home to their families or friends. Guards on duty wishing they could be down with their lovers or children. Guards getting ready for duty indulging in the simplicities of life before they would be deprived for the few hours their shift would last.

Children who felt most like the dark often slept during the day, and even a few elves had never gotten away from that habit. Gardeners constantly studied plants. A lover would pick a moonstone or sunstone flower to show their affection for their mate.

Elves played, ate, cleaned, read, and loved in these yards, though most of the loving tended to happen in the cover of surrounding trees.

Now, however, everything was silent. Three days ago, Elrond had given the order for the protection of Rivendell, and that meant letting Leader walk in. Mothers held children close, sons their sisters, warriors their blades, husbands their wives.

All fearing for that fragile thing called existence. That thing Elrond would lose in just five hours.

In the end, Elrond hadn't given the letter to Aragorn to give to Lindir for Elrohir. He wanted to see his boy in peaceful sleep one last time.

But he had one last thing to do.

Standing at the head of the graves of his children, Elrond pulled out the letter and his ring, Vilya, and tucked the letter away into his sleeve.

Elrond held the gem high, and the moonlight glinted off of the single jewel. The power of Vilya had never truly controlled him, not the way his unending sadness seemed to. Galadriel and Thranduil hadn't had the same feelings, though Thranduil had grown bitter with loss and Galadriel tear stained with hers.

Bending down, Elrond stuck the fingers of one hand into the dirt and twisted violently to one side. Slowly, he kissed the gem and set it in the small cavern he'd made, slowly whispering words of caring as he pushed the dirt he'd displaced back home.

Elrond stood and walked a few feet, to the foot of the grave. There was a marker of smooth stone at the head of both upturned piles.

He turned to the one he'd just buried the ring in.

Arwen, Daughter of Elrond and Celebrían.

Blue grass had grown over the subtle lump in the ground, a moonstone flower grew naturally to one side of the grave. They had always been the favorite flower of Arwen, and Aragorn had made special promises to bring these flowers when he came back to pass through.

One night, in their haste, Arwen had set the flower aside when they lead each other off into the trees. Elrond had smiled at the lonely flower despite himself, for the flower was a sign she had found someone besides family who could truly love her.

The next morning, Arwen had been crushed when she found the flower covered in frost, frozen to the ground. A frost Aragorn had shielded her from in the night. Aragorn had whipped a tear away and said, "I always come back with more. This time, it is just a stronger promise to show my true love for you, Arwen."

Four months later, he came back with another flower.

But the heat had come, and the flower had melted in the early morning sun one day, somehow escaping Arwen's notice. The only reason she'd remembered what had happened was when she'd stepped on one, and found it was growing there. She'd ran back to her frozen flower to find only a stem.

Grabbing it up, she'd run to Elrond, excited. "The petals of the flower fell, and now they grow here!"

Arwen had been so happy. Even when Aragorn came back and saw this sight, he never stopped bringing her the flowers because they were his promise he would stay faithful to her.

And he did. In the end, it was her who broke the promise.


	6. Chapter 6

Elrond Part 6

His mind was dragged forcefully away from his memories and thoughts as the sun began to peak out across the tree line. Time was fading, and Elrond still had one more place to go.

He nearly ran, he wanted to leave before anyone noticed. Or at least see Elrohir without his notice.

The blankets were tangled and clumped at Elrohir's feet, his hair bunched and messy, his face buried in pillows. Elrond felt his body groan at just the sight of the way Elrohir was stretched out. Elrond used his fingers to gently smooth the black swish of hair down his back, then pulled and tugged at the blankets until he could swing them around his son's hips loosely.

Before he left, he slowly pulled the parchment out, wincing when the paper crinkled so loud, it seemed, the Oliphants would be awoken by it. He set the paper next to his son's head before gently closing the door behind him.

The sun was even higher on the horizon, fearlessly chasing back the inky oblivion that was night. Soon, the cooks would be at work in the kitchens and children who had found a master would go to them and start the assignments for their 'prentice work today.

Time was of the essence, and wouldn't suffer to be wasted.

So he ran. Elrond was bordering on hysteria as his feet scrabbled frantically over the ground to reach the stables.

He was going with such a force and power, he couldn't slow down. Elrond felt really stupid as he realized the only thing he could do was turn to hid side. His shoulder took the brunt of the impact, and his whole body groaned as recoil shook everywhere inside him like a current, and he smashed through the doors.

Looking up from his position from the ground, Elrond realized he'd taken the bulky double doors with him. If he wasn't in such a dire situation, Elrond would have laughed and mussed one of the four stable boys' hair. Their faces were tired and terrified, by the looks of it they were just waking up with the sun and birds.

"Sorry." Elrond cringes and he stands up and glances at the door laying on the ground. "I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Yeah, we can tell." Cyngwen, the eldest stable boy, said. "Which horse could we saddle for you?" The boy couldn't have been older than a few hundred years, and seeing him nod to the one girl who worked here was kind of stunning.

"My mare." Elrond said.

"Of course." Cyngwen said. "You don't wanna die without your truest horse by your side, my father always said. Then he ended up dying next to a fat donkey he stole and planned to kill for meat."

The slim girl, Glilmang, came back with bread and cheese and a cup of wine, and shoved a young boy wrapped tightly in furs off a chair so Elrond could sit and eat. Seeing Elrond and the disapproving look on Cyngwen's face, he stood quickly and pulled down the blanket.

"Thank you, Brillyra." Cyngwen whispered gently, pushing a strand of hair carefully from his face.

Most elves rode into battle without bridles and such, but Elrond was going too ride to the most fearsome orc of all, and he wanted his horse to be content.

The last stable boy, Clulyan, began to expertly string together a soft woven rope so Elrond could keep the animal sturdy and not hurt it.

"Young boys with good skill, and a young girl whom I know will be the most beautiful maid in all her time." Glilmang blushed as Elrond pulled himself up onto the horse.

"Nearly, My Lord Elrond."

"Hmm?"

"Nearly most beautiful." Glilmang seemed to consider what she'd said for a moment. "Lady Arwen will always be at the top of whatever list might be constructed."

Elrond found himself smiling and he thanked the children he'd so rudely snapped out of sleep. Slowly and gently, he pressed his heels into his mare's sides, keeping in mind the horse had just been woken as well.

Whatever fatigue the animal might be facing, he held it back, though Elrond could feel a tension in the beast. As if it knew where they were headed.

When Elrond had snapped down the door, he didn't think that maybe it would cause a noise loud enough to snap others out of their sleep. As he looked around Rivendell for the last time whilst his horse expertly wound his way through the half-castle, half-house, he saw many elves watching.

Mothers stood behind their children in doorways, a sturdy hand on their shoulders to tell them if they should want to watch, they could, but under no circumstances were they to rush out. Men wrapped arms around women, and Elrond smiled up at a women who put an arm around a women. They were so radically different it was easy to see they had no blood relation.

As he neared the edge, where he would wait at the gate, he noticed a couple, eyes wide in surprise, and maybe even fear, as Elrond passed by. He bit his cheek so he wouldn't smile. Clearly, fear and danger made way for fear.

Usually most elves didn't really care who saw them. It was something they all did, or would do. I guess they felt bad to have been lost in passion on the day he was apparently going to go ride to his death.

The worst thing though was when the peered around to watch him, their eyes saying sorry. Elrond shook his head and beamed openly. "Enjoy yourselves!" He called. They both looked startled, but then the man raised his eyebrow and shrugged a bit, his teeth worrying at her jaw until she broke and smile and their lips met again.

Elrond smiled and turned his head back to the gate. When he stopped there, his horse seemed impatient, as if the creature wanted to run Elrond to safety. Elrond whispered soothing words and stroked the beast's neck, but that didn't prepare him for the reaction his horse would give.

Leader was on the horizon, his bulk hiding the gentle light. Suddenly the cool air seemed cold, his smiles turned to frowns, and his breaths slowed with his heart.

His horse whined louder and louder, his nostrils flaring. Elrond stroked his silken neck, but the horse's life didn't matter much to the Leader.

Even though Elrond fought to pull away, with one swipe of his claws, Leader sliced his horse open. The beast fell, and Elrond barely managed to jump off before he got squished. Red blood was everywhere, but the horse was still alive. His side was completely split open, and the beast's entrails spilled out, hanging half in and half out of the huge cut.

Elrond's heart wrenched when he heard the labored breathing and saw the rolling eyes.

"Do you except death, Elrond?" The beast who was pretending to be man asked, his harsh voice like boots over a spattering of pebble with rock under it.

Elrond nodded silently, rubbing his horse's jawline gently. "Come on then!" Elrond's head whipped up, and he noticed there was a small child at the hands of the orc. "You come now to die, or she dies!"

Elrond scrambled up, and the child darted away, crying, blood from a cut on her head spilling down over her eye.

The fear in his horse's rolling eyes, the pain in his breath was eating away at Elrond.

He was so haunted and distracted, he nearly slipped and fell on the rocks. "DAD!" The scream came loud, and Elrond looked up. Elrohir had pushed the window to the window seat open, and was looking out, fear deep in his eyes that peered from a pale face.

One thought crossed Elrond's mind as he looked at Elrohir for a moment.

I am going to die in the little river Arwen loved so much.

The thought was only fleeting though, because he felt the air force its way out of his lungs as Leader had swept his feet from under him, causing Elrond to land on the slippery rocks near the edge of the shore. If the orc's hand hadn't been so strong on the back of his head, intertwined in his black hair, Elrond would have fallen forward.

I am going to die the way Elladen died.

The thought crashed its way into Elrond's head, but as soon as he tried to push it away, Elrond recognized he was right.

The hand on the back of his head was over powering, and Elrond took a quick gasp of air, despite his former promises to end this quickly, before his face was shoved underwater.

In the cool early morning air of a fine day that promised to get only a bit hotter later, the water was bitter. Like claws over his flesh, the current stung him.

And even though Elrond hadn't wanted to struggle, impulses came first. They were stronger than his will to die simply and cleanly.

It was something inside him that wanted to live, although live for what, he didn't know.

His hands suddenly began to hit and claw, he felt his nails meet and tear flesh, then ever bone in his left hand seemed to explode at once in pain as a slippery rock suddenly appeared under his fingers. He only needed one arm to gain purchase.

And gain he did. Though the pain flooding through his body from the brutal collision with the rock felt like reason enough to just lie still, Elrond pushed. He must have snapped some on his bones in his hand because the harder he pushed the more it hurt, and a warm liquid that could only have been blood rushed up from a few of his fingers.

His pushing added more strength to one side, and unbalance began to make the world swirl and churn in front of his eyes.

Suddenly, early morning light was piercing the vale of darkness, gentle air kissed his face, and pain washed over him. As soon as he could, Elrond found himself twisting from back to front, but this time he could see, though water clouded his vision. His arms stayed steady, surprisingly, as Elrond threw up. He was grateful the only thing that came was water, instead of the bread and cheese.

Alarm didn't hit him until he realized the water coming from his mouth was tinged a deep red, the water that was coming from his stomach. Sometimes he coughed, and bloody water came from his nose, from his lungs. Blood from inside and outside his body began to turn the whole river red, his hand aching, several sharp white pieces peeking through the pale paper-like substance that held his body together.

Whatever fear he felt at the red water was made dull by the joy that he was coughing, he was puking up water, tears were streaming from his eyes, his chest did hurt. All these things told him he'd won, somehow he'd won, even though he'd never even intended to fight.

The joy was short lived when the orc leader came smashing into him.

Pain surrounded him even tighter as his head smashed against the huge rocks, and he could feel the crack of his skull. Leader took advantage of his breathlessness and shoved his head back underwater.

His lungs burned, but they began to cool off. Elrond thought he was going to be okay, until he remembered the water had been freezing.

There was no air inside of him, his vision was fuzzy, and not from the water. He stopped his legs and arms flailing and concentrated on trying to reach for his throat.

The skin on his neck was warm, a beacon in the freezing waters and darkening world. His clammy and shaking fingers tried to bring air into his lungs, tearing at his throat. Each time he racked his fingers along his neck, a flare of pain erupted.

Elrond didn't know what he was trying to do besides to continue breathing.

He wasn't succeeding.

He gave up trying to claw to find a breath, to open his lungs up, to breathe again.

He gave up trying to fight his way free of the orc leader's grasp.

He gave up trying to stop this end.

He gave up living.


	7. Chapter 7

Elrond Part 7

The cool morning air pressed against Elrohir, a strangling force. The early morning sun was already casting light and heat to kill off the drops of water that settled over every leaf and rock each night.

So, this is what the end feels like, Elrohir thought bitterly. The end of a war that hardly started before the commanders surrendered.

He should've fought, Elrohir thought. He should've at least tried.

Every ounce of bitterness was replaced by sadness as he found himself standing on a small platform at the foot of the graves. Beside Elrond was Elladen and Arwen, each just as much sleeping in the soft dirt.

Dozens of pale, expectant faces stared at him, waiting.

The only problem was, Elrohir wasn't sure that he could actually give them what he wanted.

"Elrond, lord of Rivendell. Once upon a time, he was a husband. Once upon a time, he was a father. He was a soldier and a scholar and a healer, all once upon a time. Now is not that time, for now cannot be called "once" unless it is the past.

"Now is not the past, no matter if that is where Elrond, lord of Rivendell, now dwells.

"And just because he is my father, it does not make it my duty to dwell where he should, for he wants me to move forward.

"Elrond is dead, and moved on. All that is left for us to do, is move on.

"And though it is the last thing I want to do, it is my duty, so I shall."


End file.
